


We Change Together

by squirenonny



Category: Leverage
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirenonny/pseuds/squirenonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ot3 drabbles set after the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stolen Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkandpaperhowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperhowl/gifts).



Parker never stopped stealing things.

She feels guilty about that, sometimes, now that she’s a good guy. (The leader of the good guys, technically, the Best guy. Or she should be.)

It’s not the stealing she feels guilty about. That’s what they do, that’s their _thing_. They’re Robin Hoods and alternative justice and something _good_ and _right_ and maybe just a little illegal. Parker’s never cared about that last one, and she doesn’t start now.

She does the right thing, for the most part, and that usually involves stealing from bad guys, and sometimes borrowing from not-so-bad guys. (But she always gives those things back, if she can.)

But she’s started stealing more than wallets and jewelry and priceless artifacts.

She steals kisses from Hardison when he’s deep in The Code (her fallback term for all the computer stuff she doesn’t understand), because his surprise is adorable and his smile makes her warm inside and when she asks what he’s doing she gets to hear his voice at its most vibrant talking about _what_ he loves to _who_ he loves. She can’t resist taking those moments when he least expect them.

She steals food from Eliot, because it’s fantastic and she really doesn’t need another reason. But also because he still never blames her and so she gets to see her boys argue over nothing, gets to watch anger turn into teasing turn into compliments torn backwards out of their stubbornness and launched like insults they both pretend are really meant to insult.

She steals moments in the morning when she’s the first awake, watching them sleep. Watching Eliot wake up and smile before he remembers he’s supposed to be a grump. Watching Hardison’s momentary panic as he reaches out and finds the rest of the bed empty and cold.

She steals these things and hoards them, unmarked, nonsequential, pulling up a memory from yesterday and a memory from three Christmases before because none of them feel so very far away.

She feels guilty, claiming them as her own, but then again it’s only fair. They stole her heart a long time ago.


	2. Safe

It’s strange, being cared for.

Eliot has almost, almost gotten used to caring, but this? This is different. This being the weak one, being the one others look at and say _I want to make you stop hurting._

He doesn’t remember the last time he had that.

He doesn’t remember the last time he let someone see his weakness.

But the last job left him aching and bloody and limping, more so than usual, the pain so huge he didn’t notice that Hardison and Parker were protecting him. That Parker, driving Lucille VII (there were a few more mishaps after Nate and Sophie bowed out), avoided the potholes and the speedbumps with an almost vengeful obsession. That she was silent and watchful as she drove the whole way home five miles an hour _under_ the speed limit, glancing over her shoulder at every corner to make sure he was still breathing.

He didn’t notice that the tremor in Hardison’s hands was from anger and not from fear, because Eliot is used to Hardison being afraid, being shaken, _needing_ Eliot, and he hates it because it means he’s failed. Only this time, Hardison’s hands shake as they wrap a bandage around the hole in Eliot’s side, and it’s because Eliot succeeded. Because he took all the punishment so they didn’t have to.

Neither of them suggest a hospital; they know better, but Hardison pulls out his laptop as soon as they get home and it might be the blood loss, but Eliot is pretty sure he’s enrolled one of his aliases in med school and is learning with that fevered drive Eliot hasn’t seen since Hardison hacked history.

Parker brings a blanket and a stuffed dog and curls up beside him, careful not to push too hard on anything that hurts. She’s done this before, but this time he gets the feeling that _she’s_ the one watching the door, watching the windows, ears alert for any number of distinctive sounds that say danger is near.

Eliot doesn’t like being hurt, not like this. He can handle the pain, he can handle the long, slow slog back to full strength.

He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach the feeling of being useless, of lying wrapped in gauze with a splint on his leg, knowing that if Parker and Hardison found trouble he wouldn’t be there to protect him.

But the night wears on and Hardison rubs at dry eyes as he dives into another course on first aid, or anatomy, or trauma, or whatever subject he’s on now, and Parker rests her chin on Eliot’s head, her body coiled for action, and something else rises up to match the voice of guilt.

It’s been a long time, he thinks, since he felt safe.


	3. Game Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt fic: "Leverage OT3 + game night"

When Hardison said Saturday night was game night, he didn’t exactly mean it as an invitation. He didn’t _mind_ , exactly. He was just surprised. Eliot and Parker weren’t exactly the MMO types.

That was fine, though. There were other games, and Hardison would pass on all the raids in the world if it meant gaming with his partners. And he would do just about anything to make this game night a good one. He had racing games for Parker and fighting games for Eliot and a couple fishing and hunting games just for nostalgia. Hell, he’d even planned a one-off Shadowrun campaign, just in case. (Not that _that_ would ever happen, but he wanted to be prepared.)

There _was_ a slight hiccup when the other two showed up, obviously expecting something different.

“ _Video games?_ Come on, man. What about the classics? Monopoly? Clue? Chess?”

“Four fingered discounts,” Parker added. She glanced from Eliot to Hardison. “It’s like that creepy hippo game, but with diamonds, and if you get caught stealing you lose a finger.” She pursed her lips. “What, you’ve never played that one?”

“No,” Hardison said. “No, that’s—I’m pretty sure that’s child endangerment at the _very_ least. And I, for one, like my fingers just the way they are.”

Parker laughed and vaulted over the back of the couch. “Only the losers lose a finger,” she said like that made it all better. She snatched up a controller and mashed a few buttons. “So what _are_ we playing?”

“Nerd games, probably,” Eliot said, heading for the armchair. Scowling, Parker threw a skittle at the back of his head, then made faces at him until he joined the other two on the couch.

Hardison had played this through in his head several times over the course of the day. He’d told them both about his favorite games—several times—but he knew neither would know Gran Turismo from Grand Theft Auto. (Though, knowing Parker, she would jump all over a game named after a felony.)

So, he kept it simple: “Racing or fighting?”

“Racing,” said Eliot, then gave Hardison one of his Looks, like _What do you want from me?_ “There is no way a couple of geeks and a computer can recreate the discipline and nuance of martial arts.”

Hardison was going to let it go. He _really_ was, but his mouth was two steps ahead of his willpower, and before he knew it he was neck-deep in defense of a genre he didn’t even really like all that much. “A couple of—a _couple_ ? Eliot. I love you, man, you know I do, but video games take _way_ more than a couple of geeks. Have you ever watched the credits on a game? No you haven’t, because you’ve never finished a game. And you know what? Fighting games aren’t about _discipline_ or _nuance_ . They’re about _fun_ and really cool--”

“Yeaaaaaaah.” Parker leaned forward to jab the power button on the console. “Let’s just start.” It took a few seconds for the system to turn on, and Parker amused herself by cranking the controller back and forth like a steering wheel and making engine noises.

Hardison relaxed a little as he watched her. This was Parker and Eliot. He could make them sardine-and-horseradish sandwiches and they’d still call it a nice date. Even Eliot was smiling as he pushed Parker off him as she leaned into a fake turn.

Eliot was surprisingly good at racing games, though he seemed pissed off at his own skill. He complained almost nonstop, even as he kept pace with Hardison. He even won his fair share of races. But he complained more than Parker, who declared that this game handed nothing like a real car and proceeded to cackle in delight as she totaled her car for the nineteenth time.

Hardison wasn’t going to try his luck with fighting games after that, but Parker insisted and, well, Hardison never could say no to her.

( _No_ became a lot more attainable once Parker proved to be the sort of player who button-mashed her way to victory in _every single match_.)

Eliot wasn’t terrible, either. He wasn’t good, but he wasn’t terrible. He caught onto the combos pretty quick, and _he_ was the one who kept losing to Parker for an hour after Hardison had given up.

Eventually Parker left to hunt for snacks in the kitchen, and Hardison leaned toward Eliot, smirking.

Eliot raised his eyebrow at him. “What?” He probably didn’t realize he was still smiling.

“You like this,” Hardison said smugly.

Eliot hid his smile behind a scowl. “No I don’t.”

“You do.”

“It’s—this is _nerd_ stuff, man!”

“Then you a nerd.”

“No, I’m not.”

Hardison leaned in closer. “Admit it.”

Eliot shoved Hardison away. “Get off me.”

“My boyfriend’s a gamer.”

“Dammit, Hardison!”

Parker flung herself backward across both their laps, spraying popcorn, pretzels, and M&Ms everywhere. “You _totally_ are,” she said, reaching up to pat Eliot’s cheek. “My nerd boys.”

Eliot’s face soured. “Just start the next match, Parker.”


End file.
